


no kisses goodbye

by roboticake



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Actual Reaper Gabriel, Alternate Universe, Angst, Body Horror, He is sweet as fuck and I love him, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Teenager Jesse McCree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:39:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9292655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticake/pseuds/roboticake
Summary: Death is not quick, unseen, nor cold. It is a solid hand around his neck, warm and solid and strong. Firm yet almost comforting.Still, the next breath Jack takes is painful.- -Jack Morrison, reckless cop caught in a car-chase went awry, is supposed to die. Strangely, the Reaper doesn't seem to want that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm buried deep it the last chapter of bftw and whenever I'm stuck, I'm working on this. Enjoy the ActualReaper!AU I promised on both Twitter and Tumblr. I don't have a schedule, but I will keep the chapters short, so I can update the fic quite often despite work and uni.
> 
> Jack is a kinky little shit. So tell me to tag anything that might need to be tagged.  
> Now rated Mature but probably going full Explicit later.

 

With shards of glass piercing his stomach and a pool of his own blood seeping through the sun beat ground; Jack Morrison, lying in the fuming carcass of his car, knew he was dying. Still, his life didn't flash before his eyes. He didn't encounter the fabled light supposed to lead him to Heaven –or Hell, for that matter. He was just shivering and cold, jaw squared in an attempt to bear the pain.

At this point, Death would be kinder, gentler than _this_. The smell of melting rubber was burning its way down Jack’s lungs; scraps of irons cut his navy-blue uniform, turning almost black as it absorbed the blood of his wounds. Jack wondered, for an agonizing long moment, if his death had to be like this: painful and terrifying.

The beginning of the day was so deceivingly normal. Jack threw himself after a burglar downtown, something not so frequent but not too rare either, in this small city of California. He never expected a car-chase, though, or losing control of his vehicle in the middle of a highway.

He should have waited for his partner, Jack mused.

Above him, on the roof of his now disemboweled car, the lights were still flickering, projecting blue and red over Jack’s blonde hair.

He groaned, trying to move despite his numb legs. He mustered enough strength to haul the upper half of his body out of a shattered window, but didn’t go far. The loss of blood made his arms weak and his sight blurry; or maybe was it his head, that hit the windshield? He raised shaking fingers, wincing as he felt the gash of his forehead under their pads.

Jack let his hand fall on concrete in a dull thump, and screwed his eyes shut. If he could, he would have yelled, screamed in frustration. He should have known. Being a police officer was dangerous, he should have quit sooner to take care of Jesse, he should have accepted this job in the archives, dull but safe. He should have done so many things.

It was too late, now, to regret. Pins and needles prickled under the skin of Jack’s hands, where the blood couldn’t reach anymore, and he clenched them into fists. With a defeated sigh, Jack waited for the void to take him with a cold grasp around his heart.

But Death, when it came, wasn't anything like Jack expected.

He always thought Death would be something quick and unseen, snatching his soul in a split-second. Instead, when Jack opened his eyes, he saw it take its time to prowl around him; a black mist crawling on the ground, swirling in the air; its tendrils twitching, curling around nothingness. It approached slowly, as if curious, and Jack realized, swallowing nervously the lump in his throat, that it was sentient.

By the time the mist – _Death_ — reached him, time stopped. _Literally_.

Jack blinked, startled, trying to reorient himself in a world turned in various shades of gray, colorless and dull.

He was suddenly standing in the middle of the highway, unharmed and uniform pristine clean. Shards of glass weren't gutting him anymore; his vision was crystal clear again.

Jack took a couple of steps, eyebrows knit in confusion. Behind him, frozen between two flashes, the lights had ceased to flicker. The flames and the smoke coming up from the hood of the car had stopped to sway under the summer wind. Everything was frighteningly still and except Jack, the only thing seeming to be able to move was the black mist.

It had halted its advance, letting its tendrils of smoke gradually turn into limbs while the rest of the mist took the form of a tall silhouette. Despite his apparent nervousness, Jack kept his chin defiantly high and refused to budge as the strange being approached him with measured steps, chains of its heavy black boots rattling. Jack ground his teeth, drew a deep breath. Lips pursed, he studied the entity.

It was humanoid, its tall silhouette clad in a long, ebony cloak and its face hidden with an eerie mask. An owl one? Jack frowned, trying to peek under the hood and grasp more details, without any success. He sighed, then let his eyes be drawn by the canisters strapped on the creature’s chest. At first, Jack thought it was maybe the monochrome world that made the fabric black, but the canisters, some also resting on the left side of the creature’s hips, were bright red. It contrasted with the rest of the world, confirming that only Jack and the entity could wear some colors.

The vivid crimson made Jack think of blood, and, blinking, he turned abruptly back to his ruined car, still petrified in time, to see his own body lying on the concrete of the highway. It was suddenly hard to breathe; panic constricted his chest. What was happening? Was he dead? Was he a ghost?

“You need to calm down,” a distorted voice suddenly said.

The creature had crossed its arms, the clawed fingers of his right hand tapping impatiently the elbow underneath them. Its head tilted to a side, the nonchalance of the gesture clashing with the aggressive, rough voice.

Jack didn’t want to calm down at all.

“Fuck you,” he hissed through his teeth, baring them. The panic was still here, uncomfortably heavy in his guts, successfully taking over the fear and morphing it into rage. “What the fuck is happening, I…”

‘I _was_ dying’. ‘I _am_ dying’. Which one was correct? Jack didn’t have a clue. It was unnerving.

The entity chuckled, tone empty of humor; a cruel mockery. Its mouth was hidden, but the smug grin could be heard in his words, accompanying each one of them.

“You’re not dead. Yet.”

Adrenaline decupling his boldness, Jack snarled and stepped right into the creature’s space, sweeping his blues eyes up to stare at the impassive mask. His upper lip twitched with contempt.

“What the fuck are you?” the blonde gritted out, grasping the entity’s collar in a firm grasp. If he was already dying, he shouldn’t fear being harmed, wasn’t he?

“You can call me Reaper, Jack,” the thing said, amused. It easily pried Jack’s fingers off its collar with an inhuman force, making the blonde tense. “And I’m here for you.”

Jack squared his jaw, a shiver running down his spine as the tip of a clawed finger rested, oh so lightly, over his lower lip.

“Take me, then, and stop this bullshit,” Jack breathed out; a dare he knew Reaper would take. 

The blonde felt sharp silver press against his mouth, prickle his tongue as he spoke. The touch was almost ghostlike; the coppery tang of metal the only thing making it real.

Reaper hummed. It dragged its claw over Jack’s chin, passing over the sensitive skin of his throat with a fleeting touch.

“So easy,” it commented, and for once, it didn’t sound insulting. The words were almost wondering, praising.

Jack squirmed, unsure of what to do under the full attention of the creature. His Adam’s apple bobbed against the claw when it grazed the skin there, and he held his breath when he felt it slide lower, following the hollow of his throat. The claw pressed a little more; a curious prodding, and Jack, who expected pain, only found a strange, comforting heat. He melted under the touch, caught himself whimpering. 

Death was apparently not quick, unseen, nor cold. It was a solid hand around his neck, warm and solid and strong; firm yet soothing. Jack tilted his head back, baring his throat. The creature grumbled out an appreciative purr.

A warm hand glided down, pressing against Jack’s chest.

He felt his legs give way beneath him, and the world spun. Colors dotted his sights, then took it entirely over. The world was normal again, but too bright; too light. Jack blinked. 

The next breath he took was painful, shards of glass back in his stomach and rough concrete against his cheek. The lights on the roof of his car were flickering again, soon joined by others. The recognizable siren of an approaching ambulance grew louder.

Did he lose consciousness? Did he dream? Jack was too tired to care anymore.

He still noticed, amidst the multitude of black boots running toward him, a pair of them adorned with rattling chains.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://www.roboticake.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/roboticake)  
>  Also, feel free to ask me R76 or McHanzo prompts/ficlets on both websites! ♥


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